way, and he believed the government would yield.  For, the Association, he assured his countrymen, was safe within the limits of the law, and not a hostile hand could be laid upon it without violating the constitution.  His countrymen had nothing to do but obey the law and support the Association, and a Repeal of the Union within a few months was, he said, inevitable.  In all this he had allowed his own heart to deceive him; and his mistake was clearly shown, when in October, 1843, the government, by proclamation and a display of military force, prevented the intended monster meeting at Clontarf.  It was still more fully established in the early part of the following year, when he, with a number of his political associates, was brought to trial for treasonable and seditious practices, found guilty, and sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment.  The subsequent reversal of the verdict by the House of Lords, was a legal triumph for O’Connell; but nevertheless, his prestige had suffered by the occurrence, and his policy had begun to pall upon the minds of the people.

After his release the business of the Association went on as before, only there was less of confidence and of defiance in the speeches of the Liberator, and there were no more monster meetings.  He was now more emphatic than ever in his advocacy of moral force principles, and his condemnation of all warlike hints and allusions.  The weight of age—­he was then more than seventy years—­was pressing on his once buoyant spirit; his prison experience had damped his courage; and he was haunted night and day by a conviction—­terrible to his mind—­that there was growing up under the wing of the Association, a party that would teach the people to look to an armed struggle as the only sure means of obtaining the freedom of their country.  The writings of the Nation—­then a new light in the literature and politics of Ireland—­had a ring in them that was unpleasant to his ears, a sound as of clashing steel and the explosion of gunpowder.  In the articles of that journal much honour was given to men who had striven for Irish freedom by other methods than those in favour at Conciliation Hall; and the songs and ballads which it was giving to the youth of Ireland—­who received them with delight, treasuring every line “as if an angel spoke”—­were bright with the spirit of battle, and taught any doctrine except the sinfulness of fighting for liberty.  The Liberator grew fearful of that organ and of the men by whom it was conducted.  He distrusted that quiet-faced, thoughtful, and laborious young man, whom they so loved and reverenced—­the founder, the soul, and the centre of their party.  To the keen glance of the aged leader it appeared that for all that placid brow, those calm grey eyes and softly curving lip of his, the man had no horror of blood-spilling in a righteous cause, and was capable not only of deliberately inciting his countrymen to rise in arms against English rule, but also of taking